


Relax and Just Breathe

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Lifeguard!John, M/M, Mouth to Mouth really isn't sexy, Prompt Fill, Red Pants, Sherlock is a pathetic dork, Teenlock, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tries to catch the attention of a gorgeous young lifeguard. He succeeds. Sort of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax and Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fill for a follower on tumblr. I will be doing a porny sequel to this.

“You’re staring.”

“No I’m not. Shut up. Go eat some sand.”

Sherlock rolled over on his towel, and continued to stare. Now, at least, he pretended to do so over the top of his book. 

“He’s straight, Sherlock.” Mycroft frowned down at his reddening arms, and coated himself with a third layer of sunscreen. “Even if he weren’t straight, he’s a…” His lip curled up off his teeth in a sneer as if he gotten sand down the back of his swim trunks. “Townie. I hope you’re not planning on slumming.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock kicked his feet back and forth, striking his rump to cause a pleasant aftershock of jiggling.(“Good lord, Sherlock. You look like a cat in heat.”) He gave up on the pretense of paying attention to his upside down book, and rested his chin on his hands to watch the lifeguard. 

 

He wasn’t tall. Short, in fact. But he had wonderfully broad shoulders, and smoothly muscled arms and chest. From his position just to the left of the watch tower, Sherlock could clearly see a fine trail of golden brown hair wander down the young man’s navel to disappear into his trunks. It was the trunks that had caught the teen’s attention in the first place. 

Dark red, with white piping, and snug. Oh, so deliciously snug. He had bent over to brush sand off his shin and Sherlock had had to lie on his stomach for a few minutes. When one of his fellow guards had come over, they had spent several minutes rough housing and grappling in the shade of the tower. The playful touching and friction had left the young man with a noticeable bulge straining out the front of the trunks. His hips were slightly wide, the curving bones prominently displayed above the low slung waistband. They were tight enough, that Sherlock could almost see his pulse. 

“If Summer Lovin’ suddenly starts blaring from someone’s stereo, I’m going to have to kill you.” Mycroft muttered, adjusting his umbrella. 

“He’s not straight. He’s not. He hasn’t even noticed all the bouncing females trying to get his attention.” Sherlock trailed his fingers through the soft sand, drawing mindless patterns. 

“And you think he’s going to notice the skinny goth boy that’s been staring at him like a bug for the past hour? Because so far, he hasn’t seemed to notice your existence.”

Shooting a dark glare at his brother, Sherlock rolled over and sat up. He paused long enough to kick a spray of sand over the elder Holmes’ still sticky skin before stalking towards the shore. He picked his way through the annoyingly cheerful families, back rigidly straight. 

“Sherlock! You don’t know how to swim!”

The boy turned and walked backwards, arms outstretched, with a smug set to his lips. “Exactly!” Facing the ocean again, he checked to make sure his trunks were firmly tied before trotting down the length of the dock. His plan involved a small level of embarrassment  but he crossed the line at being humiliated. The last few feet of the dock, he broke into a sprint and sprang into the water. 

*

John watched the boy run down to the water. He grinned at his long, slightly gawky limbs wobbling over the sand. 

It had been keeping him entertained most of the afternoon, wondering what the stranger would finally do to try to get him to make a move. Normally, like the girls currently playing volleyball right under his tower, the young men would put themselves on display. They would be subtle about it for the most part, yes, but they would still try to show off. Not… Just what was that kid even doing? 

With a frown, John saw him belly flop off the dock.  _Christ. That had to hurt._ He relaxed back onto his seat, while he waited for him to come back to the surface. 

And waited. 

And waited.

“Shit.” 

John hopped off his tower, slipping the strap of his life preserver over his chest as he sprinted down the beach. He tossed his sunglasses aside as he hit the dock, his feet thudding on the wood. Hitting the calm water in a perfect dive, he searched under the surface for the boy. 

*

Sherlock had, like always, sunk like a sack of stones. There was a reason he didn’t swim. With almost no fat on his body, and apparently no buoyancy whatsoever, the moment he got into water he hit the bottom as if his feet were made of lead. As soon as the surface closed over his head, the harsh cold had him gasping. Then choking. Soon, he was drowning. 

Everything was going according to plan.

Through the water, he heard the reverberation of pounding feet on the dock followed by a splash above him. Looking up through the greenish blue murky water, Sherlock watched as the lifeguard swam down to him. He was all creamy gold and dark red. Through his oxygen starved haze, the teen felt like grinning. God, he was gorgeous. 

And  _strong_. 

His arm clamped around his chest in a vice-like hold. Sherlock’s last conscious thought before drifting away was that it would be nice to be embraced by him.

*

_Absolutely stupid, giant fucking moronic idiot_. John snarled in his head as he pulled the boy up onto the dock. He weighed next to nothing, so he was able to easily lift him and stretch him out. Thankfully, no one had been foolish enough to try to come out onto the dock to ‘help’ him with his task. 

Unable to tell if the slightly blueish tinge to the other’s skin was from lack of air, or from the cold, John gently chafed his skin with one hand, while tipping back his chin with the other. God, he was gorgeous.

John created a seal over their lips-  _It’s not actually possible for someone to have heart-shaped lips_ \- and blew three quick puffs into the boy’s mouth. When nothing happened, he began to pump the hollow below his ribs, forcing the air back out. Three more breaths, and the skinny, soggy teenager began to cough. 

Pale blue eyes shot wide, and he rolled over, retching into the water. With a small smirk, John rubbed his heaving back and ran his fingers through his wet curls. “Not as sexy as you were thinking it would be, was it?”

Sherlock groaned, wiping at the sea water that was streaming from his nose. “Hnnggn.” He flopped back over, and covered his face. “I wasn’t expecting to vomit my lungs out.” He admitted, peeking out through his fingers. “I thought I would spit out a bit of the ocean, and then gaze up gratefully at you.”

Giggling, John pushed the boy’s hands out of the way, and checked his pulse. “Yeah. You puke. Sometimes you make weird noises.” Carefully, he helped him to sit up. “It would have been a lot easier to just continue lying in the sun, and kicking your own bum. Come on, up you get, you idiot.” 

Shaky on his feet, Sherlock leaned on his rescuer, shivering. “My brother goaded me on.” he muttered, but hid a smile as the lifeguard kept his arm around him. “I thought this would get me a kiss.”

John let out a bark of laughter, and scooped Sherlock up in his arms. The poor kid had worked hard, it seemed rude not to give him some sort of reward. “I’m John, by the way.”

“Sherlock,”

“Yeah, I know.” Dark blue eyes dancing with amusement, John adjusted his grip. “Sound travels really well near water. Your brother’s kind of a twat.” He grinned down the few inches to Sherlock’s face. “I’m not a Townie. I’m visiting my grandparents, and earning money for my next term of school.” Leaning in a bit further, he nosed Sherlock’s curls away from his ear to murmur, “And I don’t really go for bouncing, giggling girls.” Winking, he straightened back up. 

Back at his tower, John set Sherlock down and wrapped him in a big, fluffy towel. “You okay?” He asked, pulling out his first aid kit and rummaging through it. 

“I’m fine. Just a bit embarrassed. I don’t need a check up. I’m not even dizzy.” 

Nodding, John opened the towel, and withdrew one of Sherlock’s arms. “Well, just to be sure, I’m trained in all forms of emergency first aid.” Brandished a Sharpie, he neatly printed out his mobile number on the inside of the boy’s wrist. “If you start to feel a relapse, call me. Tonight. At about 8:30. I’ll teach you how to swim.” Because he really had worked hard, John pressed a small kiss to the centre of his hand. “You can learn some proper mouth-to-mouth.” 

In a slight daze, Sherlock made his way back to his brother, who was staring as if he had grown a second head. “If you tell me I’m blushing, I will break your arm.” He mumbled, sitting down and turning back onto his front. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a grinning John climb back up his tower. 

The sun shone on the water still coursing down his back and thighs. His trunks had darkened to a rich scarlet, and were clinging to him like a second skin.

Sherlock traced the digits on his arm, pointedly ignoring Mycroft quietly singing under his breath, “ _He showed up, splashin’ around_.”


End file.
